


Space Friggin' Denny's

by fibonaccist, zigavon



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: ...ish, Alternate Universe, Food Kink, M/M, flagrant berry theft, space dennys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fibonaccist/pseuds/fibonaccist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigavon/pseuds/zigavon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Avon purloins waffle accoutrements, and discovers the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Friggin' Denny's

**Author's Note:**

> WE ARE HERE TO BUST DOWN THE DOOR ON THE RP-TO-FIC MONOPOLY IN THIS SHIPTAG.
> 
> ...ish. Anyway, Zig is the Avon to my Blake and we are a slightly different brand of ridiculous. Hope it pleases.
> 
> idk if this is AU or not since nobody in the second calendar probably even knows what dennys is. oops.

Do they even have Denny's in space? On the more exotic frontier planets maybe.

"Fancy meeting you here. What's that?" No sooner has Blake sat down to annoy Avon with his presence than he's pulling the appetiser skillet toward him and studying it. Do they even have mozzarella sticks in space?

Avon wasn't going to eat it anyway, but there's probably a policy against only ordering an ice water.

"Isn't it. I believe it is supposed to be _food_."

"Looks more interesting than rations, I'll grant it that." The onion rings are the first to go, and most of the afore-puzzled-over cheese sticks follow suit. (Let it be known that Blake will probaby die of a heart attack now, instead.) The last one, however, is held up at Avon's face with a grin. "Wouldn't kill you, you know."

" _Interesting_... isn't quite the word I would have used." Nonetheless, he plucks the mozzarella stick from Blake's hand, considering it before peeling the breading away and consuming some of the contents. "How much longer until the rendezvous?"

"Your vocabulary is decidedly more vitriolic, I'll agree." He doesn't even notice that he's doing the exact same thing to a chicken strip. Their food despairs in silence. "Three hours, by Jenna's guess. Bored by lack of violence already?"

"No. Just in general." And there is that waitress again. Not stopping to refill their drinks. Again. Avon picks up a teaspoon, out of lack of anything better to occupy his hands. "We are to remain _here_ for _three_ hours?" Better make that a coffee, then.

An eyebrow is raised. "And you were once such a _patient_ ruffian, Avon. Surely this brief respite'll do you some good." Nevertheless, he uses his own spoon to ding at Avon's water glass and catch the young woman's attention on, oh.... her seventh stroll past. "Miss? Yes, two adrenaline... what's that look for?"

"Blake, outside of the Liberator, it is typically referred to as 'coffee'. Less potent, but with much the same effect. Please excuse his ignorance, miss." Avon smirks, and the waitress rolls her eyes and proceeds to fetch them coffee. "I _am_ being patient." He'll take his black, thank you.

"Well, it isn't as if I touch the stuff away from the Liberator, anyway. Perhaps you should have brought Vila instead." Grumpity grump. Suddenly, his waffle is a great deal more interesting than Avon, especially now the butter's melted and the mess is ready for too much syrup.

"I doubt that Vila would ever had left this place, had I brought him. Our crew would be down one already useless body." With a nonchalant coffee sip, he hobo-forks a strawberry from Blake's waffle. 

"Not enough alcohol to keep him down for the count long enough to matter." Blake narrows his eyes as a strawberry is purloined from his meal. He isn't sure whether this means war, scolding, or cheering up. The squinting is transferred to his tablemate and then, quite deliberately, a sturdy finger swipes through the small lake gathering around his waffle and unceremoniously deposits the delicious filth across Avon's lower lip.

"Take care, Avon. If you want its trappings, you'll get them all."

Avon takes a long blink and licks his lips while Blake is still watching. His face looks, at least, less annoyed. He'll try for another strawberry though. Damn the consequences.

"I'm sure that I will."

That does it. He grabs Avon's hand before the second strawberry reaches its destination and leans across the table, biting at one end of it and shoving further forward to drive the other end to Avon's lips. The poor slice of fruit disappears somewhere in the press of a sound kiss, and the smearing left behind is licked clean by an attentive Blake. His resulting chuckle comes from the same amused rumble in his chest as the scolding the follows it.

"Thief and a scoundrel, Kerr. What am I to do with you, if you won't behave as well as _Vila_?"

...well, hello. The boredom of the diner has certainly glazed over for the moment. Taken by surprise, Avon laughs. Just a little.

"I will give him credit where it is due. At least Vila knows when to stop." He dips a finger into the mess of butter, syrup, and whatever else was in the concoction, and touches it to Blake's nose.

Said nose wiggles before nudging itself not-really-clean against Avon's chin. From somewhere, another slice of strawberry is held to his mouth between a pair of obliging fingers. Blake makes sure the drippings from that go to the picturesque chin as well.

"And I suppose we don't?"

The fruit is consumed, and Blake's fingertips licked clean of syrup. He unrolls a napkin, about to bring it to his chin.

"Of course not. But we've hardly compromised missions, either."

"True." The napkin is waylaid in favour of Blake's recently chosen method of cleaning, the sticky bit of his nose forgotten. "D'you think we're doing that now, or do you wager our contact will take their precious time showing up?"

The nose hadn't been forgotten, and neither have his lips. "If their reputation precedes them, then we are not putting anything in jeopardy. According to your, to _Jenna's_ calculations, we have a few hours yet to wait."

"Mm." Best to make sure that enticing curl between Avon's lip and chin is meticulously tidied. Wouldn't want to make a bad impression, after all. But then again... "Shall we risk the operation and, ah... disappear for a satisfactory number of moments?"

Lingering traces of syrup on Blake's mouth are sought and destroyed. There's time enough.

"I believe this to be the best plan of action I've heard during this whole ordeal."

As it stands, nobody in the establishment has the courage to use the men's room for nearly an hour. They aren't the quietest of revolutionaries.


End file.
